The Opium War by Julia Lovell
In the introduction to The Opium War, Lovell claims that the purpose of her book is to tell “the story of the war that has been haunting Sino-Western relations for almost two centuries.” The Anglo-Chinese opium war, which lasted in inconsistent form for over a century, has had a lasting impact on political relations between the two nations, reaching even into the 21st century. Lovell creates an impressive image of the events surrounding the initial conflict, forming a cast of fascinating characters on both the British and Chinese sides. Crowds of politicians, soldiers, officials and ordinary men and women are brought to life. Her narrative is fast paced and contemporary, not dusty or dull.
Lovell gives equal treatment to the British and Chinese elements of the tale, making use of sources that convey the preoccupations and concerns of both, always with historical objectivity. She also treats the events with both the enthusiasm and integrity of the consummate historian.
There is no bias in her depiction of the opium war, which makes it a work of powerful insight. Equally, Lovell’s method of narrative makes the book accessible to those with little knowledge of the war, or the nature of Anglo-Chinese relations. Her treatment of the legacy of the war and its effect on contemporary political understanding is fascinating and enlightening. In utilising current events, Lovell creates an easily understandable, enjoyable and illuminating vision from a conflicted, and often little understood, period of British and Chinese history.
People Who Eat Darkness by Richard Lloyd Parry
On July 1st 2000 a British girl, Lucie Blackman, went missing in Tokyo. Nine months later, her dismembered body was unearthed on a beach in Kanagawa and the Japanese police arrested Joji Obara on suspicion of kidnapping and assault. When Blackman’s parents appealed to the public, the case triggered a media frenzy. Richard Parry, writing for The Times, was one of many journalists to discover a darker underside to Japan, far removed from conventional images of Geisha girls and orderly streets. But his book length report, published 11 years after the murder, is remarkable for its objectivity. Parry uses photographs, testimonies and diary entries to construct a sympathetic but unsentimental narrative, focusing on Lucie’s last days as a bar hostess in a club called ‘Casanova’, before moving onto less speculative ground: the Blackman family, the media storm and the murder trials. Parry’s writing is plain and detailed; he makes no attempt to sensationalise the account, which hardly needs
embellishment. The depth and breadth of his research is evident from the number of footnotes referencing letters, trials and interviews.
It’s not the easiest read and it certainly won’t be mistaken for a crime thriller; there are no action sequences and the focus is on facts, not events. But Parry presents the evidence in a manner which makes for compulsive reading, leaving you constantly uncertain as to what will happen next. People Who Eat Darkness is not so much a crime story as a re-examination of Japanese culture and an exploration of individual responses to grief. Where previous reporters have shone a damning spotlight on the unsavoury side of Tokyo, Perry looks at the public’s obsession with Lucie’s case and unseats several common assumptions about the nature of grief, loss and psychopathy.
Hood Rats by Gavin Knight
Gavin Knight’s Hood Rats couldn’t have been published at a more prescient time. Chronicling Britain’s criminal underworld, it was released just a month before the July Riots. Knight undertook extensive research so he might present a rare insight into the lives of the youths who have fallen through the system.
Knight writes in an impressionistic style, presenting a panopoly of characters who either exploit or are victims of the system in which they are trapped; a Somalian child reliving civil war on the streets of London, a Sikh drug addict living in a bin shed and a veteran cop are all players in the story he tells. To his credit, Knight does not flinch when relating the visceral violence that forms a part of the everyday lives of his characters.
However, the problem with Hood Rats is that the people he writes about seem like characters, not like representations of real people. It feels over-fictionalised. DC Anders Svensson could be straight out of any sub-par crime novel, and the gangsters are almost a parody of themselves. As a result, the reader remains distant from the issues the author is trying to engage them in. It is a profound shame given that his subject matter suffers from a tragic lack of sympathetic representation in mainstream culture.
Gavin Knight had the opportunity to write a game changer to provoke discussion about one of the most distressing aspects of modern Britain. Unfortunately, the novel lacks the emotional punch and social context necessary for good political fiction. Hood Rats lies somewhere between bad crime fiction and biography. Its inclusion on the Orwell shortlist is ultimately just a devastating reflection of the state of political writing today, and sadly, that is all I took from it.